


one last fight

by neogotmyheart



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boxers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neogotmyheart/pseuds/neogotmyheart
Summary: after months of fighting for cheap change on the side,  you hear the promise you’ve heard too many times before. just how long until it's finally true?





	one last fight

A knock sounded on your door and you rolled your eyes already knowing who would be on the other side. It was 2 AM on a Friday and the expected visitor was the only reason you were still up. One day, you would go to sleep and ignore him when he came to you for help. One day you would stop allowing him to make your heart skip a beat even when you were so upset with him you could scream. Unfortunately, that day was not today. You mentally hit yourself as you walked over to the entrance of your apartment.

Looking through the peephole, you assessed the damage and prepared yourself before opening the door for the man. He was dressed in a baggy t-shirt that was now covered in blood stains. Despite the damage that had been done to it in the ring, his face was still incredibly beautiful. His striking features looked immaculate even under the bruises that were beginning to form. 

Upon the sight of you, Yuta smirked. “Well, well. Why are you still up?” The teasing tone of the sentence bore a stark contrast to the slice above his eyebrow and the blood covering his face. The last thing he should be doing is joking around in the state he’s in but this is what he always did. This was your routine.

“Will you just come in before you wake up my neighbors. I don’t want them to think I’m harboring fugitives.” You sighed, opening the door farther. “You could at least clean yourself up a little, you know.”

He slid past you, allowing his bruised knuckles to graze your fingers before he lightly pulled on your hand. You tried to ignore the sense of comfort the familiar gesture gave you but failed as his words fell upon your ears. “If I cleaned up, I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you.”

“You don’t need an excuse to see me. This is a nuisance to me more than anything.” You admitted. You loved seeing Yuta, looked forward to it even, but you couldn’t deny the growing frustration that came with these middle of the night meetings.

He laughed. “I love when you get like this.”

“What? Honest?” You spit.

“Such a firecracker.” He shook his head and walked into your bathroom, grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet and jumping on the counter. 

You took the cloth from his hands and wet the rag with warm water, trying to focus on the temperature of the water instead of Yuta’s red-stained fingernails trailing up and down your forearm. 

You brought the rag to his face, cleaning some of the drying blood before making your way to the wound itself. Yuta winced and attempted to move away from you.

“It wouldn’t hurt if you would just stop fighting, ya know.” You pressed against the cut again, this time with significantly lighter pressure. You probably pressed too hard the first time out of your frustration with your boyfriend.

He turned and pressed a kiss to your hand. “I won tonight.”

“You always win.” You sighed. The fights Yuta participated in were completely illegal and the only official rule was that you didn’t do enough damage to kill the other person. Everyone would bet on the fighter they thought would win. With Yuta’s impressive victory streak, he had been making more and more money every week. Going up against him seemed to mean an immediate loss for the opponent. Despite the victories, Yuta still got hurt and would come to you to clean him up. Every week he had a stack of cash in his pocket and a less than happy girlfriend at his side.

The problem was that you always gave in to him. He would apologize and give some excuse about how he would be more careful or the more extreme nights led to the promise of him quitting the fights altogether. No matter what happened, the two of you would end up in the same place the very next Friday night. Your patience was being to wear thin after hearing one too many empty promises.

He looked up at the ceiling, appearing to be contemplating. “I guess, you’re right. I do always win.” He gave you a beautiful smile, reopening one of the cuts on his lip. You padded at it gently with the corner of the rag. He reached up and grabbed your wrist gently, stopping you. “Why do I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Because I am. I am every week.” You admitted with a huff. 

He leaned in to kiss you and you moved away. “Not this again.” He looked at you with a frown, already knowing the inevitable fight was about to happen again. Except he didn’t know you wouldn’t let this time be the same as the rest.

“What do you mean not this again? You know how much this bothers me. Why can’t you just stop?”

“It’s not that simple.” He shook his head. That wasn’t an excuse and it never would be.

“It is, Yuta. It really is. You just stop showing up.”

He rolled his eyes. “We have this fight every week. Why do you keep bringing it up? This is just how it is.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have to be in this position after I’ve repeatedly asked you not to put me in it. Do you know how stressed I am every Friday? I barely make it through work because I worry myself sick over whether or not someone is going to finally come around and beat you to the point that you can't get to me to clean you up. You think those fucks are going to take you to the hospital?” You deserved more than this. A relationship was supposed to be a partnership. Your feelings should be valid and heard. Instead, Yuta did whatever he pleased and you were just forced to go along with it. 

The man in front of you stilled, noticing the conversation was already different from the ones you usually have. “What are you trying to say?”

“I can’t keep doing this, Yuta. I can’t keep putting myself through this.” You gripped the wet rag in your hand tightly and watched the bloody water appear from between your fingers. 

He tilted your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes and spoke softly. “Okay. It’s the last time.”

You sigh, turning your head away from him. “You know how many times I’ve heard that?” When would it ever actually be the last time? Ever since he started boxing, he told you he would stop. You used to cry when he came to your place late at night. Now, not only were you desensitized to seeing him in this state, you were annoyed that he kept endangering his life and actual job for nothing but an adrenaline rush and some pocket change.

“About as many times as I’ve heard you say that you can’t keep cleaning me up.” He smiled at you, the remaining blood in a dried stream down the side of his face.

“Fuck off. One of these days, I just won’t answer.” You gripped the sides of the sink, refusing to look at him anymore. You had long since accepted the fact that you were absolutely weak for Yuta. One look could make you cave and put you right back where you were before.

“We both know that’s far from the truth.”

You shook your head. You couldn’t keep letting him toy with you like this. Despite all the happiness you felt in other aspects of your relationship, you were quickly finding that the stress from these weekly encounters was sinking the boat. “You can’t stay here tonight.”   
He let out a chuckle. Of course, he didn’t believe you. You’ve threatened to leave him countless times and never followed through with it.

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No. I mean you have to leave.” You threw the rag at him and walked towards the bathroom door. “I’m done and you aren’t taking me seriously. You can finish cleaning yourself up. I want you gone when you’re done.”

For the first time in your entire relationship, Yuta didn’t have anything to say.

* * *

You woke up in the morning to find Yuta gone. Even after everything you said last night, you hoped that when you left your room to make breakfast, you would find him curled up on the couch. You reminded yourself of the frustration from the past few months. The fear and annoyance and worry flooded your mind while you tried to convince yourself you did the right thing. Tears streaked your cheek as you forced yourself to busy yourself with cleaning. You needed to do anything except call Yuta.

All throughout the week, you ignored the phone calls and texts. For once, you knew that Yuta actually felt the threat of losing you. You felt the desperation through the phone and you tried not to let it convince you to let him back in. He hasn't proven that he had given up fighting. The only way he could show he was serious about staying with you was to give the boxing gig up.

On Friday night, you curled up on your couch and attempted to watch some movie you had really no interest in. Teeth gnawed on your fingernails while you wondered just how long you had until your boyfriend would come knocking on your door. Would he actually give up fighting or was this underground madhouse more important than anything he had ever built with you? 

As 10 o’clock came and went, you knew exactly where he was. You reached for your phone, scrolling through your old messages with Yuta before grabbing your jacket and heading to the location he had sent you before the first fight. After that night, he sat on your bathroom counter and begged you not to come as you attempted to clean up the blood through your tear-blurred vision. He kept repeatedly saying that he would never be comfortable with you being alone in a place like that. You bit back your comments about the fact that you didn’t feel comfortable with  _ him _ being in a place like that. Getting the job of cleaning up the love of your life made you never want to go anyway.

Until tonight. 

You wanted him to remove himself from it and now here you were getting yourself involved. Taking a cab, you asked the driver to drop you off at a restaurant two blocks away from the supposed meeting place. The closer you got to the empty alleyway, the more nervous you felt. You felt like a hypocrite, telling Yuta to stop fighting and then going to the fights the very next week. You already knew he was here. Why did you need visual confirmation? Curiosity was quickly replaced with guilt at your actions as you knocked on the door and gave the codeword you found under the address Yuta sent. 

The gatekeeper opened the door and after looking you over once, he let you in.

“Bets?” He said, sitting back down, opening the metal box full of cash before looking at you expectantly. It was already overflowing.

“Oh no, I’m just watching.” You spoke quietly, trying not to let your nerves be apparent to the man in front of you.

“You have to bet, miss. This isn’t a free show.”

You fished a twenty out of your wallet with a sigh and handed it to the man. “Nakamoto Yuta.”

The man let out a small grunt. “You don’t look like the rest of his groupies.”

You felt a rush of mixed feelings. There would be other girls here, meaning you wouldn’t be walking into a pit full of testosterone, but the other girls out there were probably looking for Yuta’s attention. You bit down the jealousy and made your way inside. They obviously supported his unfortunate hobby.

“You be careful, miss. A pretty thing like you really shouldn’t be wrapped up in shit like this.” He waved you off before you made your way into the dark room. 

The ring was barely visible through the crowd of people. You were able to see a few rows of what was probably supposed to be stadium-style seating. The rows seemed to be hand dug and proved to be completely uneven upon closer inspection. The ring was made of nothing but flimsy, frayed rope and old metal fence posts. The dirt in the middle was splattered with plenty of blood from previous weeks of fighting. Everything about the setup was rugged and cheap. It was obvious that this was the best they could do with their covert location.

You scanned the room, looking for anywhere that you could actually see, fearing sitting too close, as not to let Yuta spot you. You didn’t need him getting some false sense of hope at your presence.

After seeing a few empty seats in the back, you tried to squeeze through the crowd to the spot in front of you. Filthy comments and grabby hands flew your way and you chose to ignore them as you moved to sit down. It didn’t take long for you to understand the man from earlier’s warning. 

Others started to follow suit, finding random seats around the room. There were more people than you ever expected for something like this. At least 150 people were in the room now. The cheap metal fold-out chairs squeaked loudly around you as the crowd shifted in their seats. You searched for the other women that were supposedly Yuta’s “groupies” and your gaze locked on a row right in front of the ring. They all laughed together, alcohol splashing onto the dirt floor underneath them. Half of them alternated between taking huffs of poorly rolled cigarettes and taking swigs of their cheap beer. You looked nothing like any of them.

What were you doing here? You pulled your jacket closed and slid down in your chair, letting the hard seat dig into your back. 

You searched the room for various exits and sorted through your options before a man came into the makeshift ring, picking up a mic from the ground and tapping on it. The thudding sound carried through the room as you attention was now drawn to the inevitable matches.

You waited patiently as he sorted through the entire list of fights. The small crowd roared as the announcer named the last fight. Yuta was the main event. You don’t know what you expected. He mentioned his wins every week you cleaned him up. It was safe to assume that most of this crowd was here to cash out on his success. 

You sat through the first fights, flinching every time a punch was thrown. How were you going to watch Yuta do this? Your stomach turned at the sight of people you didn’t even know. The thought of your boyfriend being in that position was enough to make you want to vomit. You played with your fingers, trying to think of anything except the sight in front of you.

Your thoughts traveled to the time you had spent since kicking Yuta out. You couldn’t deny the emptiness you felt throughout the week without him. If you were stronger, you would have been able to walk away a long time ago. Instead, you found yourself in an underground boxing ring trying to compromise with yourself. If you accepted Yuta’s fighting, you could still have him. As long as he wasn’t getting more than a few scrapes and bruises, you could continue the weekly routine of cleaning him up if it meant waking up next to him Saturday morning.

Loud applause snapped you back to reality. You had finally reached the final match. Your nerves escalated significantly as the two men made their way into the ring. You could no longer hear the announcer’s voice over the thudding of your own heart.

Yuta shrugged off his jacket, causing a chorus of screams from the front row. He waved at them and smiled before turning to his opponent. Your eyes raked over his arms and bare chest down his abs to the low hanging shorts on his hips. You wanted to look away before it even started. The thought of witnessing any injury to his body was enough to make you want to run out of the room.

Yuta’s knuckles were wrapped hastily in black tape while the rest of his hands and arms were free of any type of protection. He made his way to the center if the ring and despite wanting to turn and flee, you found that your eyes were unable to leave him. 

The makeshift referee stood with his arm between the two fighters. You found yourself hating the man. He didn’t step in once during the other fights despite all the dirty moves that were made. You tried to remind yourself that the only rule was to not kill. However, the reminder made the nerves worse as you wondered just what the man opposite Yuta would do to win. From the looks of the crowd, the winnings for this fight could be a decent amount of cash. 

Imagination was no longer needed as the arm between the two was lifted. The first punch landed square on Yuta’s jaw. Yuta shook his head from the shock before charging the man, knocking him to the ground and settling himself over him. Punch after punch landed on the man’s face.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as your teeth managed to gnaw a hole in the fleshy skin. The iron taste of blood hit your tongue right as the man managed to flip Yuta over, administering the same treatment. Yuta’s face slowly became covered in small cuts and whelps from the other man's knuckles. You saw blood begin to cover his cheeks as his knee found the man’s hip, pushing him away from him. 

It was clear that the man hadn’t been in near as many fights as Yuta. His defense was practically nonexistent and he already appeared to be out of breath. Even after the intense beating Yuta had just received, he appeared to be in next to no pain as he lifted himself off the dirt floor. 

Before long, your boyfriend resumed his attacks and the man fell to the ground, attempting to curl up in some sort of ball while reaching toward his back into the hemline of his shorts. Yuta began driving his foot into the man’s back over and over before the man reached out, a knife suddenly in his hand.

The crowd cheered from the unexpected excitement while you noticed the look of confusion on your boyfriend’s face. The referee looked on, waiting for the man to make a move with his newly revealed weapon. It took everything in your power not to yell out, but your fear that a distraction could end in Yuta being severely injured kept you grounded.

Yuta finally was able to bring himself back to the present, looking back down at the knife. As soon as the man tried to stand up, Yuta stomped on his hand, forcing him to release the blade. He hastily dove for the glinting metal digging his knee into the amateur’s back and pressing the knife to his neck. Panic filled the man’s eyes as he slapped the ground furiously.

The referee waved his hands and Yuta walked away from the opponent sprawled on the ground. He tossed the knife to the side and made his way to his corner of the ring. Cheers erupted around you as you watched Yuta wipe the blood off his face and scan the crowd. His eyes met yours and the smile from his face instantly fell into a frown. He grabbed his jacket, making his way to the edge of the ring, eyes never leaving yours. 

The front row of women climbed through the rope and he pushed away from them, attempting to make his way up to your row. As soon as he slipped out of the roped area, you found your ability to move again and rushed to the exit. You silently thanked yourself for picking a seat in the back as it allowed you to slip out of the chaos as the crowd circled in on Yuta. The man at the door attempted to hand you your winnings but you ignored them, wanting to be outside as quickly as possible. 

Yuta’s opponent pulled a knife. Part of you wanted to know if this was something that happened frequently, but the larger part of you hoped it wasn’t. This was dangerous enough without random weapons making appearances.

You hailed a cab and tried to maintain composure while giving your address to the stranger. You were thankful the driver was quiet. Trying to maintain pleasant small talk would be near impossible with the state you were in. All you wanted was to be at home and far away from the scene you just saw.

You walked into your apartment, not being able to find the energy to make it to your bedroom. The living room couch was comfortable enough for the night. As your eyes started to close, attempting to greet sleep, you heard a knock on your door.

Your heart fell and you turned away from the door, praying that he would just leave.

“___! I know I saw you! Please let me in.” He yelled through the door. You kept your spot on the couch and waited for him to leave. Instead, he knocked again.

“I do not mind yelling and screaming until your whole floor wakes up. I’m not too proud.” His voice was louder than the first time and you knew he was being serious. The only way you would be able to get him to stop was by letting him in.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable before you gave back into the same pattern you wanted so desperately to break.

You opened the door right as Yuta began to yell again. He looked at you in surprise, mouth still open. “I didn’t think you would actually answer.” He admitted quietly.

“Neither did I, but I guess I care more about my neighbors' sanity than my own.” You moved to the side to let him in but he stayed where he was standing. “Are you not coming in?” You asked. You felt awkward just standing in the doorway, but he still wasn’t moving.

“Let me say something first. If you still want me to come in afterward then I would love to come inside.” His normal confident demeanor was gone and what was left was a man you didn’t recognize.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry.”

You raised your eyebrow. In the entirety of your relationship, you had heard that phrase enough times to count on a single hand. You two had fought plenty, but Yuta usually preferred to show he was sorry instead of saying it. It had been enough for you thus far because it just made the verbal apologies that more sincere.

“I never should have gone to the fights in the first place. To be honest with you, ___, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way but, I didn’t see why you were so upset. I had never gotten seriously injured. But tonight when that guy pulled the knife and the ref didn’t do shit about it, I finally knew that you understood the rules better than I ever did. He honest to God could have killed me. As long as I didn’t die during the fight, no one would have cared.”

You lowered your head, opening the door farther allowing him to step inside if he wanted. “We can finish talking about this inside.”

Yuta’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t even finished.”

“Oh, I want to hear the rest, trust me. But I’ve heard enough to know I want you inside with me and not dripping blood all over the hallway.” You teased.

He smiled at you and made his way inside your apartment. Everything felt like home again with him beside you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. I hate seeing you like this.” You walked off towards the bathroom, stopping when you didn’t hear any footsteps behind you. “Are you coming?”

“___, this really is the last time I promise.”

After hearing those words week after week, this was the first time you actually believed them.

  
  



End file.
